


Pick Up The Receiver (I'll Make You A Believer)

by Cerise_anouk



Series: Halloween Fics [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Be Careful What You Wish For, F/M, Halloween fun, bucky didnt think this through, gratuitous butt touching, i'll make you an offer you can't refuse, jane's just along for this train wreck, pre-Bucky/Darcy, steve too, technically workplace sexual harassment?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 20:25:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12261477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerise_anouk/pseuds/Cerise_anouk
Summary: Steve turns shocked, fearful eyes to him, “Buck, what the hell did you just do?” he half whispers in disbelief, still grasping his abused ass with both hands.Bucky stares back with an identical look, “I… I think I just sold my soul?” His heart rate picks up as the reality of what he’s eighty-percent sure he’s just done sinks in.





	Pick Up The Receiver (I'll Make You A Believer)

They hadn’t seen it coming. It was supposed to have been an easy mission; a routine guard detail with a side of heavy lifting and a heaping helping of boredom for Dr. Foster and her crew of space crazy interns on a research field trip. Thor had been off planet, so the duty had fallen on the rest of the Avengers. As usual when the blond hug monster was gone, they’d drawn straws to see which one of them would be the unlucky babysitter for the quirky astrophysicist this go around.

Of course, Steve had pulled the damn short stick and of _fucking course_ , Bucky just had to tag along at the sight of his best pal’s hang dogged face, like the fucking moron he was.

It had started off par for the course. He and Steve had herded the snippy PhD, her handsy assistant (they’d both been repeat victims of drive-by ass pinching from the mouth with the curves) and ten spastic interns onto a jet and set off. Bucky had been prepared for three days of slow death by boredom. Most of the organizations wanting Foster’s research went the corporate espionage route of planting lab techs with sticky fingers instead of trying to get their hands on the brilliant woman herself. Attempts to kidnap the tiny, intense scientist usually ended with the perps getting kneecapped by Thor’s hammer nine times out of ten, with the rest of the superheroes picking up the slack. So generally speaking, guarding Jane Foster in the field was a guaranteed walk in the park. It meant leaving two-thirds of his weapons behind, and getting to rock his comfy jeans and a flannel instead of the Winter Soldier tac gear that didn’t let his balls breath and chafed in some interesting places. It meant spending a mind-numbing amount of hours sitting in one place in the middle of the night doing nothing but listening to machinery beep and Doc Jane sass back and forth with her assistant and occasionally daydreaming about said assistant’s perfect peach of an ass (God had _really_ been on his game with that one). He’d prepared for _that_.

What he _hadn’t_ prepared for was a fucking _space portal_ opening up in the middle of the research location. Or the gray skinned aliens with backwards knees and _four_ goddamned arms spilling out of it. What he _hadn’t_ been prepared for was for was one of said aliens snatching up a gaping intern and ripping _his fucking_ _spine_ out of his scrawny back while a second _unhinged its jaw_ and bit the screaming face off of another of the poor bastards with pointy black teeth.  

Apparently Steve hadn’t prepared for none of that shit either. Which, you know, made him feel better _sort of_ since he wasn’t the only dumbass on the trip, and if they survived this then he wouldn’t be the only one looking stupid to the rest of the team.

The intern’s deaths kicked them all into motion. Steve had shoved the shrieking Jane and Darcy towards the small building that served as housing for the remote research site while Bucky pulled out one of the few guns he’d brought on this excursion and unloaded the clip into snarling gray heads that exploded in toxic orange goo as he also made a hasty retreat. There was just too many of them and they kept spilling out of the swirling portal ripping a fucking hole in the air.

And now they were all gonna die crammed in a ten by ten cinderblock bunker. Bucky has the knob in a bionic death grip; the only thing keeping the snarling horde out. The lock on it looks to have been busted a least a decade ago and there’s nothing in the bare musty room to barricade the door against the aliens on the other side. It’s only a matter of time before they get in and they’re done for. He has three bullets left, and Steve’s shield was long gone. Four useless interns have survived the mad dash along with Foster and Lewis and he _highly_ doubts that they can sass them to death.

“The team’s ETA is thirty minutes, Buck,” Steve says in a low voice, tone as somber as a grave yard.

They don’t have thirty minutes and he knows it.

Fuck. They’re not gonna make it out of this one. Bucky closes his eyes, fighting to keep a hold on the weakening door, and does something he hasn’t done in seventy years.

He prays.

 _Whoever’s out there,_ he silently tosses into the universe, _If anybody’s listening, I don’t care what I have to do, just let us make it out of this alive._

“Do you really mean that Barnes?”

Lewis’ voice cuts through the tense air, and it’s like a mute button has been pushed, there’s nothing but dead silence coming from the other side of the still rattling door.

Bucky blinks, turning halfway away from the door to look at her. She’s staring at him, an intense look in her eyes as she stands at the far back of the room, leaning casually against the dingy gray wall, one foot propped up low.  Had he said that out loud?

“What would you do,” her words, softly spoken, seem to fill up the space, pushing into every dusty corner and crack.

Jane flutters nervously next to the motionless woman, “Darcy…” she says in a pleading, almost begging tone. The single yellowed bulb hanging overhead flickers and the thin woman falls silent. Darcy ignores her, keeping her unblinking gaze focused solely on him. He’s trapped by it as her eyes, glowing with a dark light, cut into him.

“What is it worth?” she asks, the words dripping from her lush lips like honey, and when he takes his next breath he feels them crowd his lungs. He has tunnel vision. The air has gone muggy with an unknown heat, and the faintest smell, so faint he’s not sure if it’s just all in his head, like rotten egg and ash, scents the air. A trickle of something, some unknown awareness, skitters icily down his spine. The hair on the back of his neck stands up _. Don’t move, it’ll see you_ , his brain warns.

Steve is a tense pillar of muscle next to him.

The shadows cast by the weak light seem to stretch longer in the room; the pitch black of them thick and foreboding. Out of the corners of his eyes he sees writhing masses of _something_ moving within the dense darkness, flashes of sharp teeth and claws but he dare not tear his eyes away from hers. He _can’t_.

The interns have huddled together into a corner, eyes wide and fearful. They know they’re prey, and something hungry is in the room.

“What would you give?” _To live and fight and fuck and laugh another_ _day_ , her bottomless eyes seem to say, _such a_ _little thing I ask of you_.

“Buck,” Steve rumbles in warning shifting closer to him.

“Anything,” he breathes past numb lip.

“Awesome Sauce,” She says in a perky tone and with that the air clears, the shadows lay still and gray, and the banging coming from the aliens, still trying to pry their way in, can be heard once more coming from the other side of the cellar door. Like the last two minutes had been nothing but their minds playing tricks on them. They all flinch as she pushes herself off of the stone wall, saunters over to him and holds one small hand out, “I’d say we can seal it with a kiss, but that’s not how this works,” she flirts, humor filling her voice.

Bucky stares down at it, with its nails painted in chipped mint green. She wiggles her dainty fingers at him in silent invitation. He looks up at her, her lips curled in a pleasant smirk and locks his eyes with hers.

It’s now or never.

“Bucky,” Steve growls in protest which turns into a strangled gasp of horror as his best friend wraps his flesh and bone hand around hers, pumping it once. For half a millisecond unholy red flames dance in her big eyes, her smile spreading wide in sharp glee. He feels his soul rattle in his chest.

Bucky lets out a little grunt of surprise as she grasps the collar of his ragged flannel and jerks him down into a blistering kiss that tasted like rich wine chased by the coppery tang of blood. He’s left blinking down at her in dazed surprise when she shoves him with surprising strength away from the door.

Grasping the knob she winks saucily at him and croons, “Be back in a sec,” then reaches out with her free hand to pinch Steve’s ass. With a surprised yelp the good captain jumps about a foot in the air, his hands flying back to clutch his butt. Letting loose a throaty laugh she yanks the door open, disappearing into the mass of alien gray bodies waiting on the other side, and slams it behind her.

They stare stunned, completely fucking dumbfounded, at the metal door in silence as horrific screams and shrieks are accompanied by inhuman, beastly noises then wet, meaty, ripping and tearing sounds leak through the walls.

Steve turns shocked, fearful eyes to him, “Buck, what the hell did you just do?” he half whispers in disbelief, still grasping his abused ass with both hands.

Bucky stares back with an identical look, “I… I think I just sold my soul?” His heart rate picks up as the reality of what he’s eighty-percent sure he’s just done sinks in.

Holy shit, he’d just sold his _soul_.

To Jane Foster’s assistant.

The assistant who tries to ping quarters off _his ass_ while he waits for the Keurig to stop brewing.

Whaaaaaaat the fuck?

Behind them Foster lets out a frustrated groan, slides down the wall to sit on the concrete floor and buries her head in her hands, “Son of a bitch,” she moans, “She did it _again_!”


End file.
